


Press Play

by bootson



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance, Panic At The Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-14
Updated: 2010-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-21 21:49:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bootson/pseuds/bootson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spencer's stressed about the state of his band; Bob pushes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Press Play

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/profile)[**hc_bingo**](http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/) **prompt:** Build-up of job-related trauma  
>  Big thanks to [](http://pikasafire.livejournal.com/profile)[**pikasafire**](http://pikasafire.livejournal.com/) for being a cheerleader, being insightful, and somehow causing this whole thing to begin with.

"Need a distraction?"

Spence froze mid-step between the last two steps of the deck and his eyes shot up because, seriously, he had to be hallucinating. The sun had finally fried his brain and the stress was having weird effects on him.

"You stopped answering your phone."

As quickly as Spencer had looked up, he looked away. It was just...Bob wasn't accusatory. He wasn't resigned. The expression on his face was full of understanding and that's not what Spencer wanted right now. He didn't want to have to talk about how things were (or weren't) coming with the album, didn't want to think about the way his band and some of his closest friendships were splintering right down the middle.

"Spence."

Forcing himself up the steps and onto the main level, he tried to play nonchalant with a shrug and a "Sorry."

Bob dropped a hand to Spencer's shoulder, sliding it up his neck and laying his thumb lightly against the pulse there. "How's it going?"

"It's not." Spencer snapped before he could help it and felt Bob's fingers tighten a fraction against his skin.

"Breathe." Bob was closer now, his breath ghosting across Spencer's forehead and moving his hair the least discernible amount. "Come on. When'd you turn into a skittish little kid on me?"

Smacking a hand against Bob's chest loud enough to make a dull sound, Spencer did his best to glare. "Trying to push my buttons?"

He chuckled softly. "Depends. Is it working?"

Spencer bit his lip, fisting the fabric of Bob's shirt. Stepping closer, he nudged at Bob, pushing him backwards until they were out of the sun and against the door leading to the small entrance way between the back deck and the kitchen. "You're not that smooth, Bryar."

"Sure, kid." If he'd been the type, Spencer figured that would have been accompanied by a wink. Luckily, Bob _wasn't_ the type and he let his tone do the work for him, dropping the volume and pitch.

Okay, Spencer knew this game. They always did this and Spencer wasn't sure if Bob just liked poking at him or if he had a reason. Whatever, he wasn't going to get all analytical now; there was enough of that going around. Instead, Spencer pressed closer, slotting his knee between Bob's and pressing up until he pulled a groan from the other man. He nosed against Bob's neck, breathing deeply to make sure Bob still smelled the same; he did, had for years.

This wasn't typical for them, not really, but it _was_ a thing. Only when they needed it; Spencer hadn't realized how much he even _did_ until then. He pressed his hands to the wall on either side of Bob's head, forcing Bob into a slouch. Leaning in, he didn’t stop until their beards scratched together and mouths lined up with ears.

"You mentioned a distraction?" And fuck, his breathing was getting heavy and they'd hardly touched.

Bob's teeth caught at his earlobe briefly before his hands gripped Spencer's hips and pulled them together, lined up. "If you'd loosen up a little, I'd get on that."

The words maybe, just possibly, made him tense a bit more before Spencer forced his body to relax. Bob, ever the clever one, must have noticed. He bit at Spencer's neck, pressing up against him to get his attention again. Spencer wasn't one to refuse. Ducking his head, he caught a hand in Bob's hair and tugged until he could get their mouths together. Things got a bit frantic after that. It was all open mouths and hot tongues, sharp teeth and a tightening grip.

They were grinding together in earnest before Spencer even noticed it, too busy getting reacquainted with Bob’s mouth and letting Bob's hold on him set a rhythm. Fuck that. Spencer twisted, just enough to change the angle, giving a little shimmy that had the desired effect and had Bob dropping his head back against the door.

"Fuck. How do you _move_ like that?"

"Practiced skill," Spencer panted against his throat. And it was good, the heat, the motion; all of it was fucking fantastic. Only it wasn't even close to enough. All the tension in Spencer's body was coiling, tightening his muscles until he was practically shaking, even through the warm heat of arousal that was starting to spread out from low in his stomach.

"Move," Spencer shoved at Bob's hands, ignoring the indignant sound Bob probably didn't even realize he made. He shifted away, pulling back further than he wanted to so he could avoid the way Bob thrust toward him, chasing contact. "Stop being difficult here."

Eyes narrowed, Bob bucked again regardless of the space (it was negligible anyway). "Fuck you. What are you doing?"

Spencer caught Bob's bottom lip with his teeth, biting down harder than usual just to get reaction, the whimper Bob made as he tried to retaliate. Using that as a distraction, Spencer got his hands on Bob's fly. As he pulled away, he was already sinking to his knees. "Getting the picture here?"

"You're really smug for someone so annoying." But he was too breathless for Spencer to do more than laugh as he tugged Bob's clothes down around his knees.

Taking a second to get his own breathing under control, Spencer nuzzled at Bob's thighs just for the way Bob almost-but-not-quite shied away from the scratch. When Bob started getting restless, mumbled expletives and rocking hips, Spencer got a hand around his cock, squeezing for emphasis before he gave in. “Giving in” was really loose terminology.

Spencer ran his tongue up the underside, closing his lips around the head and sucking hard.

"Shit. Spence," Bob panted, hand coming down like a vice on Spencer's shoulder. It spurred him on. Spencer sunk down as far as he could, pulling back and chasing his lips with his hand. He set a fast pace, stroking quickly and adding a twist to his wrist on the upstroke. Bob, for all he might appear otherwise, was easy. When Bob's free hand stopped clutching randomly at the wall behind him and tangled in Spencer's hair, Spencer added a bit more flair.

Pulling nearly all the way off, he squeezed the base and tongued the slit. And that was the trigger to have Bob thrusting against him. Spencer dropped his hand from Bob's cock to take hold of his hips and hold him in place. Reaching down, Spencer stroked at his balls too lightly, scraping his teeth carefully but not too gently right below the ridge around the head and it was over.

Bob may have given him a warning, but they'd been here enough times by now that Spencer was prepared. Using both hands, he slammed Bob back against the wall and sucked him through it, swallowing what he could. Leaning back on his heels, Spencer gasped, wiping his face with the back of his hand. Staring up to watch Bob catch his breath, Spencer bit his lip and practically whined at how dark the eyes looking down at him seemed.

God. He was so hard he was practically desperate for any touch he could get. Needless to say, when Bob started to pull at Spencer's shoulders, he followed the force upward until he had his footing again. Even though he tugged Bob's pants with him, he didn't bother fastening them.

"Jesus Christ. Are you fucking kidding?" When Bob let go, Spencer stumbled into his chest. Unfazed, Bob was tugging at Spencer's jeans. Before he even acknowledged what was happening, he was rocking up into Bob's hand, the friction almost too much. "So fucking good, Spence, damn."

Since he was apparently missing (or ignoring) Spencer's implied demands to speed things along, Spencer grabbed at his face.

"Less talking more touching. Fucking tease," he groaned into Bob's mouth before crushing their lips together. It didn't do much to hide the way he was whining with every tug and practically keening whenever Bob so much as flexed his fingers. “Bob, Bob. Please.” So what if he begged? It’s not like Bob didn’t know he would get that reaction from him.

He was so worked up and Bob knew him too well; there was no way this was going to last very long. Bob flicked his thumb over the head and pressed down enough to have Spencer crying out everything from his name to random vowels sounds.

Slumping forward, Spencer buried his face against Bob's shoulder and clutched at his sides. All Spencer could hear for a few minutes was their breathing and traffic from two streets over, the TV Brendon had blaring in the living room.

Bob hooked an arm around his waist, tugging him closer. "If you ruined my pants, I'm kicking your ass."

"You like my ass."

"Hmm. True."

Spencer huffed a laugh before getting a handhold on the door and pushing himself back. "Move. You're blocking the door."

Bob ran a hand down Spencer's back as he moved to let him by and Spencer froze. Looking over his shoulder to where Bob was fixing his pants, Spencer gaped a little.

"Tell me you didn't-"

"You have a better idea?"

"Pain in my ass, I swear to God," he rolled his eyes. After doing up his own jeans and tugging his shirt over his head, Spencer led the way into the house and toward the stairs. Brendon and Bogart were nowhere to be seen, which was probably for the best. Changing his path, Spencer threw himself down onto the sofa and grabbed at Bob's forearm. He came down willingly enough.

When they settled and Bob produced the remote from between the arm and the cushion, Spencer caught Bob watching him out of the corner of his eye.

"I'm fine."

Bob made a non-vocal sound and shrugged. "You're a bad liar, I ever tell you that?'

Sighing, Spencer sunk down into the sofa, trying to make himself seem smaller. Lately, he'd actually been getting fairly spectacular at it. Without meaning to, he tipped sideways, knocking his shoulder into Bob's. Obliging as ever, Bob wrapped an arm around him.

"Getting that bad?"

Nodding for a second, Spencer gave up being the strong one, the silent one, and shifted closer. "It's just...Ryan and Jon, their stuff is good. But Brendon...they don't even need him for the sound. He actually kind of detracts from it; his voice doesn’t fit with the vibe. And he's writing, but he's too wrung out to take it to them." A saint's control kept his voice level; Bob's arm, warm against his bare back, kept him from shuddering. The fights, those were preferable to the cold war that had become Panic.

They lapsed into silence for a while until Bob started flipping channels without pausing long enough to actually see what was playing. "What about you?"

"I don't know."

"Bull shit," Bob started, his chest expanding with a very put-upon sigh. "What do you want? You're doing that...thing."

Spencer pulled away, just enough to see but not enough to lose contact. "What thing?"

"Where you act like you're keeping the world together with scotch tape."

"You got a better description?” He muttered.

Bob gave him a little shake. "You hold onto shit. Give it up. When I got here, you were so tight I thought you'd fucking snap."

Giving it some serious consideration, Spencer used the space between the infomercials and the movie channels to build his courage up. "I like Brendon's better. There's...a lot of potential for things I want to try. Ryan's...he and Jon...It’s too narrow. It's not...there's not enough leeway for drums."

"That wasn't the hard part," Bob whispered, pulling Spencer back in. It took some of the sting out of the words, but Spencer was okay with the sharp burn, needed it.

Because he was right, admitting that to Bob wasn't going to be the worst part in all of this. No, that was coming. He'd have to talk to Brendon; they'd have to pin Jon and Ryan down long enough to make a decision. It was going to be a disaster when all the tension finally broke, when they finally gave in to it. But for now? Right now? This was fine. Bob didn't expect him to _be_ anything or to _want_ things he didn't.

Smirking, nearly smiling for the first time in probably days, Spencer snatched for the remote.

"You're worse than Pete on a caffeine high. Pick a fucking station." Spencer tossed the remote in the general direction of the coffee table; it landed on the carpet.

They watched for a minute before Bob snorted. "You realize this is in Spanish, right?"

"I'm making you bilingual."

**  
End   
**


End file.
